


B.F.F. (Mafia Don x Reader)

by grimeclown



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I'll add tags as I continue, Implied/Referenced Torture, Original Characters - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, hopefully a slow burn we'll see, mafia, there will be warnings before every chapter tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimeclown/pseuds/grimeclown
Summary: Separated in their childhood, a mafia don and a normal girl's lives have become entwined once more- will love bloom, or will their differences tear them apart?(a bit tamer than some of my other fics but not exactly family-friendly either lol. not necessarily yandere but that could change lol. enjoy xx)
Relationships: Mafia Don/Reader, Mafia/Reader, Original Male Character/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	1. forever's a promise

**Author's Note:**

> word count: 3,658. warnings for violence, slight gore, and profanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is currently being reworked, as I've decided to take a new direction for this story. Thank you for your patience!!

_Giggles and shrieks filled the air as a group of small children chased each other around a playset. A small, cheerful girl in a flowery sundress scampered off to the side, hiding behind a tree poorly. Trying to control her laughter and failing miserably, she peered around one side of her hiding place, not noticing the young boy sneaking around the other side._

_“Gotcha!” he grabs her shoulders with a shout. She cries out happily, turning to face her friend._

_”You got me, Toni.” she laughs. “Wanna go swing with me?” He thinks it over for a moment, face twisting in concentration before shaking his head._

_“Let’s play explorers instead.”_

_The girl shrugs, grabbing his hand with a smile. “Lead the way!”_

_The pair traveled a few yards into the small cluster of trees that surrounded the playset. He stopped suddenly, making his companion stumble into his back in the middle of her story._

_“Oh, sorry. Why’d you stop?”_

_The boy turned to face her, holding her hands in his gently, like his Mamma had told him to treat a lady. He looked up at her confused face with big, pleading eyes. “(Y/N), we’ll always be together, right?”_

_The girl frowned, confused, but nodded her head. “Of course, Toni, we’re BFF’s. BFF’s means always and forever.”_

_He turned from her then, digging in his pocket for a few seconds before producing a ring. Her eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”_

_“My mamma’s jewelry box. She won’t notice it’s gone,” he looked up at her again. “I want you to have it, (Y/N).”_

_“B-but Toni it’s--!”_

_“Please, (nickname)? To show that I’ll always be your BFF and you’ll always be mine. Like Ana and Jess and their bracelets.”_

_Pouting, the girl held the ring in her hand for a long moment. Finally, she unclasped the necklace she wore, replacing the small bird pendant on it with the ring. Necklace in one hand, she pressed the charm into her companion’s palm. “That’s for you, then. You can put it on the chain with your cross,” she mumbled, putting her necklace back on. He held the charm tightly, pressed to his chest. “Thanks (nickname).”_

_She just nodded, hugging him close. “Love you always, Toni.”_

_He buried his face in her soft hair, squeezing his eyes closed. “Love you always, (Y/N).”_

\---

The memory made you smile softly to yourself before shaking your head. Here you were, a grown woman, still mooning over a childhood beau. Despite its bittersweetness - your good friend had moved to New York shortly after that day - it was endearing, in a way. Kids who had no real understanding of what they were saying but said it honestly. If only people your age now would be as forthcoming. 

You touched the ring, still on a chain around your neck after all these years, and wondered if he remembered you. 

The subway was stopping now. You stand, shouldering your bag and heading to the door, gripping the pepper spray in your coat pocket as you made your way back to your apartment. Your shift tonight was long and hectic. Bartending was a new adventure every night. Exhaustion ran through you, physically and emotionally, but the hopeful thoughts distracted you somewhat. 

You weren’t stupid- you knew that you would probably never see him again. If he even remembered you. But it was nice to think that Fate might be kind to you again and bring your BFF back to you- it did bring you to New York, after all...

\---

Halfway across the city, a man cries out in the dark. There’s no one to hear it, nor is there anyone to hear the crack of his bones as a sledgehammer makes contact with his ribcage. As he curls into himself and groans, a small bit of bile leaves his lips. The man holding the sledgehammer just huffs, taking a leisurely drag of his cigarette as he watches his victim squirm apathetically. 

“Y’know,” he crouches down with a grunt. “This wouldn’t have to happen if you’d just give me the fuckin’ money.”

The man below gurgles out a few whimpers. “Don’...don’ have it…lost it…”

“Lost it? Lost it where, fuckin’ gamblin’?” he spits, a frown twisting his features. He gets a weak moan in response. Tossing the hammer aside carelessly, he kicks the other man in the stomach until he sees the other cough up more blood. “You really fucked up this time Pete. I’m gonna have to tell Antonio and he’s not gonna be nearly as nice as I was tonight. You’re gonna be lucky if you just end up in the hospital.” 

Pete moans again, blood dripping sluggishly from his bruised lips. His attacker spits on him before grabbing his hammer and making his way to his waiting car. The driver hands him a towel, which he takes with a quick ‘thanks’ before wiping the blood from his hands. 

“Take me to Antonio’s would ya? I’ve got some shit to tell him.”

The driver nods, putting the car into gear and beginning the journey to Hell’s Kitchen. 

\---

The mug of tea you’d set on the table was ice cold and you were worried sick. Your cousin Pete was still not home, and your mind was beginning to believe the worst had happened.

He had shown up at your door a week or two ago, begging for a place to stay and looking like he’d seen a ghost. You’d taken him in, of course, your heart wouldn't have let you ignore family in need, and every night he’d be out until the wee hours of the morning, often coming home by the time you got off your shift at the bar. Usually, he’d call, let you know when he was heading back, or at least leave you a note on the fridge. But when you’d opened the door, there was no note, no voicemail, and no Pete. 

His stuff was all still there, so you don’t think he took off, but you could be wrong. He wasn’t answering calls, but it didn’t go directly to voicemail, so that was good. A bad feeling still niggled away in your gut, making your face and heart twist with worry. You pull out your laptop, pulling up the ‘find my iPhone’ feature, and quickly entering Pete’s number. The address of an old clothing distribution warehouse showed up and you bite your lip a little. Going out at this time of night wasn’t wise, but you couldn’t help feeling that something had happened. You enter the address on your Google Maps and grab a jacket. As you’re about to step out the door, your eyes fall on the pepper spray in your key bowl. You grab it quickly and head out to find your cousin. 

\---

In a dim, smoky bar, a man strides quickly to a booth against the back wall. A group of men sits together there, conversing boisterously and puffing on cigars.

“Antonio.”

The conversation lulls, a few of the men eyeing the newcomer warily. 

“Luca. I expect everything went well?”

Luca shifts his weight nervously. He wouldn’t exactly describe the experience as having gone ‘well’, and he was rather loathe to admit it to his temperamental boss. He clears his throat and sighs, a shuddering thing that betrays his calm facade. 

“N...not exactly sir,” Luca starts, cursing internally at the stutter. “He still ain’t got the money.”

His boss’ eyes hardened, a thick plume of cigar smoke leaving his parted lips. “Right then,” he drawls. 

“S’pose it’s time I paid our dear friend a visit,” he stands, nodding at the men at the table and straightening his tie a bit. “Gentlemen, please excuse me.” They wave him off easily, starting up a conversation again and bidding him come back soon. The man known as Antonio strode toward the door purposefully, crooking his fingers quickly for his right-hand man to follow him. 

The drive back to the warehouse where Luca’d left Pete was stiff, silent, and more than a little tense. Antonio was a keen man, a cooly calculating individual who knew exactly how to get what he wanted from whoever he wanted. He was a dutiful man, loyal to his family and those who were loyal to him, perhaps even to a fault. He was a tenacious man, steadfast in his goals and not easily discouraged, even patient at times if it meant he’d receive his desired outcome. One thing the young Don was not, however, was merciful. 

Antonio Vitale was, in short, a ruthless motherfucker. 

\---

Your hands shake as you walk up to the large, dark building before you. Checking your phone again you confirm that, yes, this is apparently where your cousin is. Taking a deep breath to swallow your nerves, you start towards it with determination, worry for your family outweighing your anxiety. 

There’s a door along the side, barely lit up by a nearby street lamp, and you can see the handle was broken off long ago. Still, you nudge it open with your foot, slipping in as quietly as possible. The darkness envelopes you, the light from outside barely making it in through small windows near the ceiling, and a shiver rolls down your spine. It smells musty- like animals had been living here for a long while. A couple of chittering squeaks confirms this theory and your nose wrinkles a little. You just hope none of them run across your foot or you might freak. 

Shifting your things in your arms, you turn your phone’s flashlight on and let your eyes adjust to the change in brightness. A mannequin, moldy and falling apart at the seams, makes your heart leap into your throat and you about knock the thing over with a weak swing. A small, choked laugh leaves you as you laugh at your skittishness a bit. You turn away from the creepy thing and head deeper into the place, maneuvering around crates and boxes as carefully as you can. And then you see him.

Slumped over and motionless, blood pooling around his head, your heart skips a beat and your hand flies to your mouth. You drop everything but the first aid kit on a crate nearby, kneeling beside him and rolling him onto his side. “Pete! Pete, can you hear me?” you grimace at his lack of response and put your shaking fingers to his neck, feeling for a sign of life. The sluggish beat of his heart makes you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. 

“Pete,” you snap in front of his face loudly. “Pete, wake up please,” you murmur, almost to yourself. Taking a quick look over him, you wince when you see the blood’s coming from his mouth, a couple of teeth scattered nearby giving you a guess as to why it is. Your hands hover over him shakily- you don't know what to do and you really don't want to hurt him worse.

He coughs and sputters suddenly, eyes flying open in a panic, and you let him sit up and spit the remainder of blood out of his mouth. You can tell the moment he registers it’s you there with him and the panic only gets worse. 

“(Y/N)...! Yuh-ya gotta get outta here! I mean it!” he slurs, trying to push you away as he looks around in terror. 

“Pete, I’m not leaving! You’re hurt,” you cry indignantly. “What are you even doing here? Who did this to you?” your brow is furrowed deeply in concern, and you put your hands on his shoulders to try and placate him. 

“I...I’m in deep shit, (Y/N). Deeper than you can imagine. Look, jus’- jus’ leave me, get rid of my shit, you won’t see me again, I don’ wanna get you caught up in this,” his rapid-fire speech irritates his throat and his body is wracked with obviously painful coughs. Shaking your head, you frown a little more in worry for your cousin. 

“I’m not leaving, Pete. You need help,” you state firmly. “What did you get into, Pete?”

His guilt is obvious. His shoulders sag and he looks about ready to cry- to be fair, you wouldn’t blame him if he did, given the state he’s in. 

“I- I’ve been...gettin’ into shit I shouldn’t have been,” he shudders, suppressing another cough. “Gamblin’ mostly. Borrowing shit. It finally caught up with me,” the panic returns to his eye and he looks at you with an unreadable expression. “You can’t be here, if they can’t get the money from me they’re gonna try gettin’ outta you. I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he sobs. “I’m s-so sorry.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, anxiety settling into your gut at your cousin’s frenzied state. First, you’re gonna call 911- an ambulance and cops were needed. As you stand to retrieve it, however, you realize with quiet dismay that the use of the phone flashlight meant that your phone was now dead. You curse, shoving it into your back pocket and racking your brain for another solution. The crunch of tires on the gravel outside made your blood run cold as you and your cousin locked eyes. 

“Go!” he pleaded. You wanted to cry, the fear and distress making your chest tight. “Please, (Y/N)!” 

The door being slammed open makes you freeze in your tracks, a bead of sweat forming on your hairline. 

“Pete! Where are ya, ya sack a shit?” A man’s deep voice calls into the dark warehouse. A pair of footsteps come closer and closer. Alarm floods your body and you get low, crawling into the numerous crates surrounding you. 

“There ya are! How yo-” the man stops suddenly and you stop, afraid you’d made too much noise in your crawl towards the exit. “...The fuck is this?”

“I-uh..-Well, see- Uh,” Pete’s stammering, nearly blubbering at this point and you continue your bid for the door. 

“Uh, uh, uh, speak the fuck up, Pete! What’s this fruity little keychain doin’ here, huh?!”

Your eyes widen and you curse internally. The keychain on the mace was still lose-!

“I-I-I dunno! I swear!” Pete’s lying through his teeth and you know that it’s not gonna end up well for him. 

_Just a few more feet and you can haul ass home,_ you think to yourself. _Just a few more feet and you’re out._

“Luca,” A different voice rings out. “There's a name on it.”

A bolt of ice shoots down your spine as you remember that your first name and last initial were on that thing. Another bout of internal cursing goes through you. Surely they wouldn’t find you out of the millions of people in New York, right? Right? You sincerely hope so as you shimmy your hips through the gap of the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. 

You pray for forgiveness the whole time you make your way to the nearest police station. 

\---

Despite running until your legs were about to give out, you didn’t get to the police in time. They haven’t found Pete dead or alive, but they told you not to hold on to too much hope. From what they could gather, he had ties with the criminal underworld, which spelled bad news for him. 

You told your boss what was going on and went off the radar for a week, grieving in the privacy of your home and ignoring pretty much all of the outside world. 

Packing what meager belongings Pete had in your little apartment, you put the box in the back of your closet when you realized there wasn’t exactly anyone to send them to. Most of your family (aside from a couple of estranged third cousins twice removed or something like that) was no longer living. You’d been raised by your grandmother most of your life and Pete was the only relative you’d had left close to you in any way. The gravity of the whole situation really weighed on you more than you realized, and you soon became careless despite your fear. 

Carelessness your pursuers were quick to exploit, unbeknownst to you. 

\---

Eventually, you returned to work, settling back into familiar routines and trying your hardest to live normally. The detectives you’d spoken to a few times assured you that as long as you didn’t answer unknown calls and didn't stay out too late for a while, you should be okay- there weren’t many ties between you and Pete in the first place, and they doubted anyone would look too much for a bartending artist just trying to make a living in bustling New York, New York. You believed them, being cautious and making sure you kept an eye out on the subway and such, but aside from that, you started to live your life as you used to. 

_Three months later_

Unlocking the door to your apartment, you let out a heavy sigh and dump your bag on the couch, shuffling to your bedroom to change out of your work clothes and let down your hair. After a 12 hour shift, you were exhausted but very much looking forward to the next two days of being off- a rare occurrence of consecutive free days for you. 

Donned in an oversized hoodie and soft leggings, you head into the kitchen to pour yourself a well-deserved glass of wine. You groan as you realize you not only a. had no wine but also b. had nothing in the fridge to make dinner either. Rubbing your face tiredly, you grab your tote (yay, environmentally friendly options!), wallet, keys, and trusty pepper spray, and head out the door towards the corner shop down the block.

“Ey (L/N)! Haven’t seen you around for a while, where ya been? Finally find something to do besides be a workaholic?” Dante, the clerk, calls out to you as your entrance set the bells off. He’s a slightly older man with a thick accent, a handful of a wife, and children that had made him prematurely bald. He was perpetually in a good mood and it makes you adore him. He and his wife have always been kind, inviting you to dinners and the like often. 

“Hey Dante, just been avoiding your ugly mug, what else?” you sling back, jest heavy in your tone despite your weariness.

“Ahaha! Dat’s my girl, still got that bite,” he crows from the counter, shooting you a wink as you shake your head with a smile, headed for the wine aisle. A bottle of pink Moscato finds its way into your arms and you pause, deciding to treat yourself a little, snagging a bottle of rich red wine you probably couldn’t pronounce the name of but looked interesting. You grab the stuff to make a basic spaghetti and head back up to the counter, shuffling past a man and murmuring a quick apology as you do. You don’t notice his careful gaze on your back.

“What’ve you been up to, Dante?” you start, laying your evening plans out on the counter and eyeing the magazines and candies next to you. 

“Oh, yanno, keepin’ the kids outta trouble ‘nd in school, tendin’ to Marzia,” he sighs. “Any advice for menopause, oh wise woman?” 

You grimace sympathetically. “Just be there for her Dante, she doesn’t know what’s happening either. Tell her you love her even if she doesn’t wanna hear it,” you toss a copy of Cosmopolitan and a candy bar onto the pile. “Oh, and wine, maybe. Dunno how a gal could say no to that,” you giggle, digging in your wallet for your card. Your clerk laughs goodnaturedly. 

“I s’pose it’s worth a shot. Thanks, kid,” he smiles, beginning to ring up your stuff while you pack the scanned items into your tote. 

“No problem. Give her my regards,” you hum, handing him your card as he nods in acknowledgment. 

“What about you, huh? Ain’t really like ya to drop off the face of the earth for weeks,” he probes gently. 

“Had a death in the family. Doin’ better now,” you state quietly. The older man nods solemnly, handing you your card and receipt. 

“Sorry for your loss, sweetheart. Come over for dinner sometime, yeah?” 

You acquiesce with a small smile and thank him. He returns it and wishes you a good night with a meaningful wink toward the wine. He cackles goodnaturedly as you flip him off on your way out but you can’t help the silly grin on your face either. 

When you finally get home, you turn on music and start on the spaghetti, popping the wine open with a flourish and helping yourself to a glass while you work. Soon, you find yourself absorbed in the atmosphere you’ve created for yourself, singing happily and swaying around the kitchen to the beats. When the phone rings, you don’t hesitate to pick up, body on autopilot as you answer cheerily. 

“Can I speak to (Y/N) (L/N), please?”

“This is her! What can I do for ya?”

“...” 

When the line goes dead, you pull it from your cheek and look at it confused, as if the darkened screen would have an answer for you. You shrug, the fuzzy feeling of the wine and the smell of the food more of a concern to you currently. Finishing the food and moving it off the burner, you decide to leave for a moment to set up the bathroom for a post-dinner soak. 

_Tonight is about me_ , you decide, catching a glance of yourself in the mirror as you put your magazine on the counter and hang up your freshly laundered towel. _I’m going to pamper myself and not think about a damn thing._

So caught up in your task, you don’t hear your apartment door opening over the sound of your music.


	2. the calm in the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> word count: 3,618. warnings for past bullying, mentions of alcohol, and slight suggestiveness? idk, but if something else needs to be tagged, let me know!

_“You’re so stupid, (Y/N)!” one boy yelled, tugging your braid harsh enough for you to cry out. Tears sprang to your eyes as you were pushed to the ground by another, the group of them closing in around you and laughing. You could feel the skin of your knees begin to bleed and a sob left you before you could stop it._

_“Aww, look guys, she’s gonna cry! Go ahead then, crybaby, cry!” Shame made your ears and face even redder than before. Despite yourself, you give in and start crying loudly. Somehow, the kids surrounding you didn’t expect this and started to look at each other nervously, unsure of how to proceed._

_“Hey!” an unknown voice cut in. The boys around you stopped their torment to look at the interloper with glares. Through your tears, you lift your head to see a boy around your age looking at your bullies with a fierce glare. “Leave her alone!”_

_“Or what?” the boy who tugged your braid challenged._

_“Or I’ll kick your sorry butts, that’s what!” He declared. You sniffle and wipe your eyes a little to get a better look at the kid coming to your aid. He was tan, with dark hair and grey eyes that were glaring rather fiercely. He was also pretty small compared to the others, even to you- you probably stood a full head taller than him. You struggle to remember his name. Andy? Aaron?_

_“Tch, as if. Whatever, if you want to get messed up too then it’s no big. C’mon guys,” your eyes widen as the group moves on to torment your savior, and you jump up, beating at their backs and yelling for them to stop. You make enough of a commotion for a couple of teachers to come over and break things up. Your bullies glare at you and you shiver, knowing they were just going to be worse now that you’d gotten them in trouble._

_As you’re escorted away to the office with the small boy who saved you, you catch his name when the nurse greets the two of you._

_Antonio._

_Knees bandaged, you sip water from the dinky paper cup nurse Marie gave you. You look over to the boy, tearing up when you see a black eye forming. He’s holding paper towels to his nose, which you can only assume is bleeding. As if he feels your gaze, he turns to give you a questioning glance. You burst into tears almost immediately._

_“I-I’m so sorry!” you sob. “You really didn’t have t-to do that!” your tears fall harder as your embarrassment grows, hating living up to your crybaby status. Antonio just looks at you, slightly shocked, before digging in his pocket and pulling out his handkerchief, thrusting it into your face._

_The sight shocks you out of your teary wails, and you pause, looking at the fabric and then him. He just shakes it a little, so you take it slowly, hiccuping down a sob. “T-thank you,” you whisper._

_“It was no problem, bella.”_

_You frown in confusion. Had he really not heard your name in any of that commotion? “My name’s (Y/N)...” you mumble._

_He looks at you, amusement playing at his brow. “I know, bella just means beautiful.”_

_You blush immediately, a dark thing that covered your whole face. “O-oh.”_

_He laughs and the blush gets worse. “Seriously though, you shouldn’t have done that Antonio. Now those boys are gonna be after you too…”_

_He shrugs, giving you a lazy grin. “So we should stick together then, no? I’d say we make a pretty good team.”_

\---

The music playing almost drowned out the sounds of her in the apartment. With Luca at his side, he takes in the young woman’s living space thoughtfully. The canvases and sheets of works in progress, the paint-splattered desk with her laptop playing music. The scent of her candles and laundry just barely noticeable beneath the rich odor of sauce on the stove. Curious, he steps over and plucks up the spoon resting on the nearby counter, dipping into the sauce and letting it cool briefly before slipping it between his lips. The flavor explodes on his tongue, rivaling his _Mamma’s_ in quality. Nodding, he surveys the bottles of wine nearby and lets out an appreciative hum. That she’d picked out one of his favorites on a whim was destiny in his eyes. He opens the bottle of red, finding and filling a glass for himself and topping off hers before bringing both to the table and taking a seat, Luca standing behind him like a soldier. 

Footsteps pad down the hallway towards them. Antonio’s lips twitch in anticipation. 

Letting your hips sway and bump to the beat of your music, you smile easily to yourself. With your hair thrown up in a loose bun, clad in your thin, silky robe, you turn the corner to your kitchen- only to freeze when you see a pair of men at your table. A bolt of anxiety slides coldly down your neck. Attempting to swallow the lump in your throat, you bring your arms up and cross them defensively over your chest. But before you can ask anything of the strangers in your apartment the one sitting at the table raises his glass at you. 

“Good evening signorina. Please, sit,” he gestures at the seat across from him, a charming smile on his lips. Briefly, despite your fear, you are angry at how hot he is. 

You shift your weight uneasily, eyes flickering to your pepper spray in the key bowl and back. “Um. What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” 

The hottie man who spoke quirked an eyebrow, seemingly not expecting to hear you speak so boldly. 

“I suppose I should get to the point then, no?” His smile falters and he sets his glass down, lifting his hand up by his shoulder. The silent man behind him drops a familiar-looking keychain into his waiting palm. He turns it over, observing its features and thumbing at the first letter of your name. 

“This is yours.” It wasn’t a question. You nod, watching them carefully. 

“Is this about Pete?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “It doesn’t have to be, _topolina_. I’m sure you know he had… debts, however.”

Your shoulders sag and you can feel your robe get a little loose from the movement. The small action lets your necklace fall out of the fabric, unbeknownst to you. “I don’t have much, man. This is, like, my whole life here,” you sweep one hand out towards your small studio apartment before letting it fall to your side. Despite your better judgment, you just don’t have the energy to be as scared as you maybe should be. It’s been a long week and you’re pretty tired of being afraid. Why not just deal with this head-on?

When you look back at him, his eyes are locked on your chest, mouth slightly agape. You scowl and cross your arms over your chest once more. “Look dude, I know they’re great but my eyes are up here,” you snark. 

Your statement flusters him visibly, and you relish in the full out blush on his cheeks and how badly he stutters. 

“F-forgive me, signorina, it’s just- where did you get that?” 

Confused, your scowl lets up slightly. “...get what?”

Looking away pointedly, he gestures slightly at you. “The ah, the ring. Tell me, where did you get it?”

Now you blush a little, a hand coming up to toy with the jewelry absentmindedly. With a cough, you look to the side and mutter “A friend… my best friend, gave it to me when we were very young.” 

He clears his throat. “I see,” a pause. “I am afraid I have to take my leave for now, signorina. Something has come up.”

You turn, watching him stand and stride over to you smoothly before he offers his hand. Assuming he wants to shake hands, you offer yours back before you think about it, cursing yourself internally. To your surprise, he takes hold of it gently, lifting it to his face and brushing his lips against your knuckles briefly. Your previously light blush is now glaringly obvious as you draw in a sharp breath. 

He looks up at you and you swear he knows exactly what that action did to you. Especially if that slight quirk to his lips is anything to go by. 

“I will see you soon, _topolina_. Take care,” he drops your hand and turns on his heel, breezing past his companion and out the door before you can even stutter anything out. The latter closes the door behind him, leaving you with butterflies in your stomach and a racing heart.

\---

“...Boss?”

Antonio takes a long drag of his cigarette before acknowledging his right-hand man. 

“Yes?”

Luca glances at his boss and closest friend in the rearview mirror. “What happened in there?”

The young Don’s eyes watch the lights zip past through the window absently, his thumb tracing along his lip thoughtfully. He pulls once more from the cigarette before rolling down the window and flicking the butt into the night. 

“It’s her, Luca. The keychain… I had little hope that it could be her but… the ring couldn’t belong to anyone else.”

The consigliere considers his Don’s words. “What will you do now?”

“...I will never let her go again.”

\---

It’s been about a week since the… _incident_ , as you’ve taken to calling it in your head. You’d been distracted and distant ever since, wracking your brain for an explanation as to why the assumed mobster reacted that way to the sight of your ring from Toni. 

Toni…

The small, optimistic part of your heart flickered with hope. Could that man have been…?

No, there was no way. _Real life isn’t that kind_ , you think to yourself as you mix and pour another drink for a regular. They nod in appreciation and slide a tip your way, making you smile and thank them before tucking it into your jar. _And even if it was, what would be the odds?_

You lose yourself in your work, pushing those thoughts to the side for later. The flow of booze and conversation eases you through the night. You really do love your job- not as much as making art, sure, but it was an enjoyable line of work for you. There was a healthy variety of routine and newness that kept you engaged and interested. Plus, you were good with liquor, and getting as good of tips as you usually did certainly didn’t hurt. 

The bar you work at could be considered a hole in the wall, but this sort of hidden appeal kept it lively with new guests every night. It was casual, with enough flair to even draw in some more ‘upper class’ patrons. People watching was a regular pastime for you here, as was listening to people’s stories. 

“Swear on my life, sweetheart. Clear as day it was a naked fuckin’ alien. Big hairy sonovabitch.” the older man slurred to you. So far he’d spent the last hour trying to convince you that a. Bigfoot was an alien and b. He’d seen him in an alley just that day. You could possibly get on board with the first concept but…

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a sexy hobo Roald?” you counter with a teasing smile. “Seems a little more likely in this neighborhood.”

He grumbles and waves you off, but you can see the indulgent smile he tries to hide. He bids you a good night before stumbling off to the door. Taxis frequent the area, so you’re not too worried about him getting home. Shaking your head with a smile, you wipe down the bar some before another body takes his place. 

“ _Buonosera, topolina_. How are you?”

The deep, honeyed voice’s familiarity startles you from your task and you look up with wide eyes. Before you is the gangster that had been occupying almost every one of your waking thoughts. His dark hair and grey eyes are striking in the dim lighting of the bar and you have to look away a little to fight the blush threatening to light up your face. You scrub harshly at an imaginary spot on the bar as you shrug. 

“Can I help you?” you offer tensely. You can see him smile charmingly from the corner of your eye. 

“In many ways, _dolcezza_ , but for now a drink shall suffice.” 

The implication in his sultry tone makes the battle against your blush a lost cause. Praying he can’t tell in the low lighting, you nod curtly. 

“What can I get ya?”

He hums, leaning in a little, hands clasped and forearms resting on the bar. “I think I could go for an Old Fashioned tonight. Think you can handle that, bella?”

Your heart skips a beat, your mind replaying the memory of your old friend calling you exactly that. It twists and echoes with the man before you saying it- a haunting sort of melody. But when you process the challenge presented in his statement you shake your head with a frown. 

“I ain’t called one of the best bartenders in Queens for nothin, handsome,” you snark before you can stop yourself. Your body goes on autopilot, reaching for the bourbon and bitters swiftly. Your mobster laughs goodnaturedly- _wait, your? Where the hell did that come from?_

While you blush and grumble, mixing his drink expertly, Antonio can’t help but laugh a little at your attitude. You’re too cute for your own good, the young Don thinks, admiring the lines of your body and your graceful movements as you work. Plus, your sass was irresistible. How could he not tease you a little? You were just too much fun. 

The glass set in front of him is handsomely composed, and he picks it up with an appreciative hum. You just watch as he brings it to his lips, hands planted firmly on your cocked hips. His eyes widen a little- he’d heard you were good but he didn’t expect this-!

“Mm, that’s what I thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you turn and sidle off to some of the other people at the bar, and as you do he can’t help but watch you with a slightly awestruck expression. 

With your other customers taken care of (despite a few of the regulars teasing you about your ‘suitor’ at the other end of the bar) you sashay back over to Mr. Old Fashioned and lean on the bar, one hand on your hip again. “Well?”

Having watched you the entire time, he just smirks up at you with those stormy eyes of his. You quirk your brow, trying your damndest to look unimpressed. 

“Let me take you to dinner.” Again, it wasn’t a question. This time, it ruffles you slightly. 

“Try again, slick.” 

His smirk falters, giving way to a more… smitten sort of expression. The softness catches you a little off guard and you lean back slightly. 

“It would please me greatly to treat you to dinner, _dolcezza_. If you wish, that is,” he breathes. 

The blush is back, you lament internally. Your brows twitch, as this earnest honesty is strange to you. You’re too used to men (and some women) just trying to woo you into their beds that this is confusing, to say the least. 

Before you can think about it too much, you glance up at the clock. He takes your silence for hesitation, which isn’t an unfair assumption, and continues.

“We also have some… matters to discuss, yes?”

You frown, remembering what all lead to this. With a sigh, you acquiesce. 

“I’m off in twenty.” 

\---

The car he walks you to after your shift is sleek, dark, and probably costs more than your whole apartment building. Some remnant of common sense makes you pause and look to the suited man beside you. 

“... is this the part where you kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder or something?”

He looks aghast at the statement and shakes his head vehemently. “ _Topolina_ , even if I did do things like that, would I not have already? I simply want to have a meal and a conversation with you. On my family name, I would not lie to you,” he says passionately, corroborating this with a hand over his heart. “And I would rather die than do anything to hurt you.” He straightens up, stating this very seriously. 

Slightly taken aback by the dedicated speech he just gave you, you nod complacently and start towards the car. 

The drive is quiet, with you gazing out the window for the most part and the man beside you texting and making calls, speaking rapidly in a language you don’t know. You couldn’t tell who the driver was, but you had the sneaking suspicion it was probably the same silent man from before. 

When the vehicle comes to a stop you look up slack-jawed at the sight before you. You’re still starstruck when your companion opens your door and helps you out of the car. 

“This… this is La Regina!”

He just looks up at the lit sign and then back to you. “Yes…?”

Flabbergasted, you gesture to the building before you wildly. “When you said you wanted to take me to dinner, I figured we’d go to a diner or something, not-” words escape you and your hands fall to your sides. “It takes months to get reservations here!”

Nodding, the man beside you pockets his phone after silencing it. “Yes, it has gotten quite popular,” he muses. “Is… is it not to your liking?” his brow furrows with slight worry. 

You blink. “Well it's just,” you take a deep breath, then motion to your work outfit. “I’m not exactly prepared for someplace like this. I don’t think they’ll let me in…” you flush with embarrassment, feeling wildly out of place. 

Dismissing your concerns with an easy wave, he smiles before offering his arm. “It won’t be a problem _tesoro_. Even if they wanted to, they could not turn you away. I own the place, after all, and you are my guest.” he replies casually. 

With an incredulous shake of your head, you blink rapidly. “You- what? You fucking own the place?”

“Yes,” he smiles, seeming to not understand your bafflement. “Come, let me treat you to a good meal. I am sure after a hard night of work you are hungry.” He offers his arm once more. 

You’ve had it. Tonight was a long shift and between Mr. Suave’s flirting and general presence and your other customers (looking at you, Roald), your brain is about fried. With another deep breath and a shake of your head, you take his arm and allow him to lead you inside. 

When you step in the tall, sleek metal doors, the host at the stand looks at you immediately with narrowed eyes. Feeling you shrink slightly into his side, your escort clears his throat and the host’s nasty look goes away, immediately replaced with a fearful, simpering look. “A-ah, Don Vitale, good evening! Your table is ready for you and your, ehm, guest,” he bows at the waist, a pair of menus in hand.

“Mhm. Thanks, Leoni,” he grabs the menus from the host and leads you into the restaurant. You look back briefly to stick your tongue out at the rude man, earning you a shocked look. When you turn back, your companion is looking down at you with a conspiratorial smirk. You blush, breaking eye contact to look at the luxurious decor, trying to ignore the way his low chuckle made you feel. 

“Don’t worry, _topolina_ , that sourpuss had it coming. I am not mad. I actually quite enjoy your spirit,” he purrs. You can feel the blush reach your ears and you breathe out a laugh.

“Not many people do.”

He pulls out your chair for you and you nod in thanks as you settle. The table you’re at is near the back of the restaurant and tucked into a slight alcove. There are sparse light sources, but that just adds to the brooding atmosphere of the [place](https://static.dezeen.com/uploads/2019/07/lucky-cat-restaurant-interiors-london-afroditi-krassa_dezeen_2364_col_13-852x568.jpg)\- it strikes you as darkly romantic. 

The menu is daunting, and you look desperately for anything that seems familiar. At the lost look on your face, the man across the table reaches out to cup your hand. “Would you like my recommendation?” You look up, startled, and shake your head, letting the menu fall from your grasp. Bringing your free hand up to rub at your temple, you sigh. 

“You can pick for me, I don’t mind.” your companion nods, flagging a waiter down with a raised finger and speaking quickly in that unknown language again. The waiter nods, scooping up the menus and coming back within what seemed like seconds with a bottle of wine in hand. He fills the glasses before you two and steps away after setting the bottle on the table. 

You reach forward, grasping your glass and taking a large drink without shame. Setting it down, you steel your nerves and clasp your hands together in front of you, looking at the tablecloth like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “So,” you start, nibbling at your bottom lip nervously. “What’s gonna happen here… Don Vitale?”

He winces at the formal name falling from your lips and the smile he’d worn most of the night fades into a more subdued expression, his striking eyes trained ardently on you. “Please, (Y/N),” his use of your first name instead of some pet name catches your attention. “Call me Antonio.”


End file.
